


A Uniform By Any Other Name

by FruHallbera



Series: Kylux Cantina prompts [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Blood and Violence, Kylux Cantina, M/M, Prompt Fill, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-04-30 20:06:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FruHallbera/pseuds/FruHallbera
Summary: Kylux Cantina prompt: "For all that the entire point of a robe is to appear casual and comfortable, Armitage Hux has a way of turning anything into a uniform.” (from the Phasma novel by Delilah S. Dawson)Standalone pieces inspired by this prompt.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This particular prompt turned my imagination into overdrive. 
> 
> Is there a prompt-fillers anonymous group I could attend? ;)

_“Stand at attention when you are talking to me, you horrible little man!”_

The roar cut through the air like a thrown knife and stilled all movement in the hangar bay. Time slowed down, each heartbeat seeming to take several minutes. Sounds became oddly muffled, as if heard underwater, lights dimmed. The corpse of the man Ren had skewered slid slowly off the lightsaber’s blade and fell ungracefully to the floor. The stormtroopers around him were caught between their training calling them to obey a direct command given by a superior officer, and the very core of their being telling them to avoid any and all situations which might result in receiving a royal bollocking from Captain Phasma. The instinct to survive won. They continued laying fire at the enemy, albeit in some cases with an unnecessarily rigid posture.

As for the enemy – Ren felt his mouth fall open in astonishment when the two Resistance fighters who had been trying to pull General Hux out of the fray and back into their custody first froze under the General’s vicious glare and then visibly straightened up.

Not that it did them any good. Still seemingly in slow motion, Hux snatched a blaster from the hands of his captor and put a shot right through his head in one fluid movement, then turned the gun to the second man. Ren returned to the present with a jolt, barked orders to his ‘troopers and resumed venting his displeasure on the hapless foe.

They had thought, the pitiful fools, that they could kidnap a General of the First Order. They had thought they could lay their filthy hands on _his_ General and not face the consequences. They were wrong. 

The two dozen Resistance soldiers, although clearly surprised by the sudden appearance of the First Order’s finest, did their best to regroup and mount a proper defense of the hangar. They had taken cover behind abandoned cargo crates and spacecrafts in various states of disrepair and were starting to get their act together. Ren had a feeling at the back of his mind that this had not been a pre-planned mission. Either that, or the Resistance’s level of mission control was seriously appalling. Everything screamed the enemy being in over their heads and frankly winging it as they went along. They hadn’t even managed to find handcuffs for the General. For a fleeting moment Ren imagined Hux berating his captors for this obvious lapse in hostage management protocol and didn’t even try to suppress the grin spreading on his face.

It was a definite possibility that the Resistance had had no idea, that they had been simply conducting their business on the planet while the planetary government had turned to the First Order with the view to join its growing sphere of influence. Then again, believing in coincidences was not how the Order had risen from the ashes of the late Empire. Ren didn’t need the Force to foresee the endless meetings and the inevitable piles of reports that would ensue from this incident. 

First things first, though. He had to get the blaster-wielding, fire-eyed redhead out of this fight and return him safe and sound to the bosom of the First Order, to his hard-earned command and to his rightful place in Ren’s bed. The grin threatened to split his face in two. His lightsaber thrummed with the same energy which flowed in his veins, the fierce joy of the action and the bloodshed reflected in his every move. 

He felt the warning, his body tensing as he turned to run towards the soldier who had Hux in her sight, his arm already extended and summoning the Force to his aid. He was not the only one with an eye out for the General’s safety, though, a flash of chrome revealed Phasma was on the move. Ren focused on the enemy soldier, sent her flying against a wall and kept crushing her until blood oozed from her ears, nose and eyes. That caught the attention of her comrades, who now turned to fire Ren, Hux, Phasma, and everything in between.

“Watch out, sir!” Phasma had cleared the distance between her and the General in two long strides, grabbed him by the waist and swung herself into the line of fire, shielding Hux with her body. Her armour absorbed the shots easily and she deposited him behind a sturdy cargo crate. Ren could see Hux’s lips moving as he exchanged words with the Captain, then nod and they both crouched down blasters at the ready. Hux leveled the gun at the enemy and began returning fire with deadly precision, Phasma providing cover fire for her troopers when necessary.

Ren sent a tendril of the Force in the direction of Hux to make sure he was still in one piece. He was more or less his normal self. That is to say, absolutely incandescent with fury at the idiots in High Command who had thought that this unimportant, worthless excuse of a planet was for some unfathomable reason a necessary addition to the First Order empire. In addition, he was also utterly mad at the intel team who had not managed to figure it out that the Resistance had any presence in the area, absolutely going to space the soldiers assigned to escort him for failing their duty if they weren’t already dead; completely, fucking livid with himself for trusting any of the above, and with the Universe in general. 

Ren sighed with relief. Everything was going to be all right. 

Still, heads were going to roll. It had taken an entire cycle for the Finalizer crew to realize the mission had gone sour due to an unforgivable lapse in communications and Ren being away on a mission of his own. Then two more cycles to pinpoint the location of the General on the Force-forsaken planet. Hux had relented to Phasma’s demands and worn a tracker on his clothing for the duration of the mission but had apparently been forced to strip to his underwear, even his boots had been removed and replaced with overlarge, dirty brown shoes. He had appropriated a bedsheet from somewhere and had draped it across his torso to preserve some dignity. Why, was beyond Ren’s comprehension, as there was no way he could be mistaken for what anything else that he was, the man was exuded a curious kind of General-ness no matter what he wore. Nevertheless, Ren committed the sight of Hux in his disheveled state to memory for later use.

The official records would show that Captain Phasma and her troopers had been deployed for extraction. The unofficial word-by-mouth would later confirm that Captain Phasma had in fact marched on the bridge, browbeaten the flailing officers back in to military discipline and order, let Captain Peavey and his cronies know of what, precisely, would befall them if anything at all went wrong with securing the General’s return and then promptly deployed herself with her most experienced troops.

They had set up a small, impromptu base of operations and started to scour the city for suspects and information. A few of the planetary leaders had been genuinely unaware of the Resistance activity on their home world, begging the question of their suitability to govern anything. They’d prove to be useful, eventually, as they were now bound to agree to almost any demands hoping to be spared from a full-scale retaliation and military invasion. Some of their colleagues, however, had proved to be veritable fountains of knowledge especially after it turned out that given the right motivation Phasma could be very, very effective in extracting information. Even Ren had been impressed. He had headed planetside as soon as he had been alerted to the situation, and all there had been left for him to do was to ensure that all relevant information had been received, and to lead the extraction party to this derelict spaceport.

They had gotten there just in time, as they had caught the Resistance members all but dragging Hux towards a nondescript freighter, with an air of desperate hurry. From there on Ren’s world narrowed into one single goal, the Force surging through him and setting his spirit on fire. He carved his way to the General and the Captain almost humming with pleasure.

“You certainly took your time.” Hux didn’t sound as angry as he tried to look. The battle had obviously flipped some switches inside him, and despite the indignity of having to initially surrender to the enemy his cheeks were now flushed with colour and his eyes were very bright. 

“If you want, I can order everyone back and leave you to play with your new friends.” 

Hux rolled his eyes at that. He opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by Phasma nudging his shoulder and returning his attention to the fight.

In the end, the Resistance did not live up to its name. The stormtroopers quickly mopped up any remaining enemy fighters, dispatching those who didn’t know when to stop and capturing everyone with enough sense to surrender without unnecessary fuss. 

The General rose slowly, stretching his legs and back after a lengthy crouch. He re-draped the bedsheet with the air of an Emperor on the day of his coronation. One corner of the sheet dragged on the ground, rapidly soaking up blood.

“Right. Well done. Captain, I want your report at your earliest convenience. Ren, do try and scribble a few words together, there’s a good lad.”

Hux turned on his heel and started marching across the bay, stepping over corpses, the blood-soaked fabric dragging a crimson line in his wake. Ren stood frozen to the ground with indignation as his co-commander stalked across the hangar bay. 

His eyes narrowed, and his hand seemed to rise on its own volition. One of the dead soldiers lifted his leg, landing it heavily on Hux’s improvised cape. With a satisfied nod at the ensuing angry yelp Ren breezed as lightly as his heavy boots allowed past the irate redhead and out of the door into the bright sunlight.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a difficult thing to acknowledge, but there were many things Kylo Ren admired about Armitage Hux. To be fair, there most definitely were countless other unfathomable habits which drove him absolutely mad, but the man’s ability to establish authority over any given circumstance was among the first things that had initially driven Ren to the redheaded man.

Well. Almost any given circumstance, the Supreme Leader mused while lounging on the Hux’s bed, lazily observing him going about his bedtime routine. There had been times, in fact the most recent incident had occurred mere moments ago, where Hux’s legendary discipline had crumbled rather magnificently and Ren took his own involvement in the matter as a special point of pride. For now, however, he made do with digging himself deeper under Hux’s blankets and waiting for his Grand Marshal to finish whatever nefarious rituals he had to complete in order to finally be able to fall asleep.

His contemplation was interrupted by a loud alarm blaring through the ship’s system, and almost simultaneous banging on the door.

“Grand Marsh-!” The urgent shout of some unfortunate young officer was cut short when Hux stormed to the door, opened it and marched right past the pale lieutenant, his head held high, back ramrod straight and fire in his eyes, feet beating a fierce rhythm on the durasteel flooring despite being clad only in First Order-issue slippers, his black bathrobe streaming behind him like an otherworldly shadow.

Ren rose from the bed, pulled on his trousers and shirt and trailed after Hux. He paused to pat the shoulder of the frozen lieutenant, his arm still raised in mid-knock, causing the man to nearly faint on the spot. A distant “Status report! _Now_ , Lieutenant!” unfroze the officer and he had to resort to an undignified jog to catch up with his commanding officer.

Hux had already reached the bridge, barking orders and demanding reports. It seemed that a few Resistance battleships had made an unfortunate mistake of first dropping out of hyperspace in the vicinity of the Finalizer and her accompanying fleet, and instead of doing the only sensible thing and beating a hasty retreat, had dived headfirst into battle. Hux frowned at the scene unfolding outside and turned to glance over his shoulder.

“My bridge, Supreme Leader.”

“Your bridge, Grand Marshal,” Ren acknowledged. Whatever rivalry or argument they had ever been locked into, _this_ had never been an issue. Ren walked to the command chair, sat down and opened all his senses to the battle.

Hux was absolutely _masterful_.

His crew had barely blinked at their commander’s less than regulation appearance. His orders were executed immediately and to the perfection, the bridge a buzz of ordered activity and in the middle of it, his black bathrobe wrapped around him like the wings of an avenging angel and his disheveled hair a bright flame against the dark abyss of the space, Hux stood his ground orchestrating the demise of the wayward enemy ships.

Ren rode the surge of pride felt by the crew when Hux finally turned to face them and with a curt “well done” stalked out of the bridge. He was absolutely certain, that if anyone were to ask any of the crew what Hux had been wearing they’d get a slightly bewildered answer of “his uniform, naturally,” followed by a polite inquiry whether someone asking such preposterous questions wouldn’t benefit from a brief spell being monitored by the appropriate medical staff.

He rose from the chair, nodded in acknowledgement of the crew’s salutes and left the now quiet bridge behind. The bathrobe, he pondered idly while he sauntered down the corridor towards the Grand Marshal’s quarters and the still warm bed within, while it had its merits in substituting for a uniform in dire circumstances, had one attribute where it clearly outshone other garments. It was remarkably easy to remove from its wearer by anyone familiar with the Force, even if it had to be done through a durasteel wall.


	3. Chapter 3

Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuckety fuck.

There was no way around it. 

He was utterly out of options.

Fuck.

All right, then. Face the danger head on. Never show fear. Square your shoulders and walk like you were sent to murder the Supreme Leader.

Hux steeled himself, opened the door and took one step into the corridor before retreating quickly back into the dressing room and slamming the door shut.

Fuck.

He would kill the bastard who had left him in this predicament. No, he would do more than that, he would make the idiot’s death last for weeks, he would crush every bone, tear every sinew and ligament, cut away their skin piece by piece.

He was aware that he might be overreacting just a bit.

Hux leaned his forehead against the door and tried to come up with a solution. The First Order boasted of having the best possible military schooling system, that it produced the topmost tacticians and strategists. Yet neither the theory nor the years of practice came to his aid now that he needed it the most. Utter bullshit, the Academy and the books and all the battles he’d won. Useless, ineffective bullshit. 

This was also the last time anyone could convince him to take a holiday. There was no way in any of the hells people believed in that he would ever again leave his ship behind unless on a mission, and even then, it’d have to be something of utmost importance and require direct orders from Snoke. “Try the spa,” they’d said. “It’s to die for!” He would make sure that someone did.

The idea of a shore leave had sounded surprisingly tempting. The _Finalizer_ was docked for maintenance and resupply, and for a change there really was nothing urgent to demand his attention. Ren had disappeared on some mysterious errand and would be gone for the better part of a month, the Republic and the Resistance had both apparently decided to declare some sort of one-sided secret ceasefire, and he found out with a surge of pride (and with a slight pang of dismay) that he could, actually, delegate a bulk of his more mundane paperwork to some of his more clever subordinates. He had trained them well.

He had been looking forward to a break from his routines, a fact he would admit to no one but himself. In his mind Hux had pictured quiet days, proper meals and indulging in massages and whatever else it was that people did in spas. His otherwise extremely broad field of knowledge didn’t stretch to cover holiday resorts and the activities therein, and as a man always keen to learn, he had figured that there was no way of knowing when this sort of information might come in handy.

The reservation had been made, he had let himself be convinced that the First Order would not get driven into complete anarchy and chaos while he was away, and the shuttle ride was arranged. Of course, like in all plans no matter how well-laid they were, there always was room for the element of surprise.

“General!” Phasma’s voice boomed across the hangar.

“Captain. May I be of assistance?”

“It has come to my attention that you are planning a little holiday.” The word sounded utterly alien coming from behind her helmet. “I have taken the liberty of selecting a bodyguard for your protection. He is one of our finest soldiers -”

“Captain-“

“Very accomplished in hand-to-hand combat, top marksman –“

“Captain –“

“I have personally seen him annihilate –“

“Captain! I do not require a bodyguard!”

“Excellent! FN-1976 will be waiting for you at the time of your departure. Have a nice holiday, sir!”

The stormtrooper, a stocky, brown-haired man, had looked ill at ease in his rumpled suit as he stood at overly rigid attention by the shuttle door. Hux had considered sending him back to the barracks, but he didn’t want to face Phasma who Hux knew wouldn’t suffer any excuses as to why her General would want to romp around the Galaxy without sufficient protection. 

Said bodyguard was currently enjoying _“the finest medley of musical theatre – hear the most beloved songs – the best entertainment this side of the Galaxy!”_ The man had been clutching the garish leaflet with a look of such desperate hope that Hux had relented and dismissed FN-1976 for the evening. He hadn’t been motivated solely by troop morale, the spa offered a hot mud bath which Hux had had his mind set upon ever since hearing about it. The thought of anyone seeing him covered in mud, especially anyone serving under him, made his nose wrinkle in disgust. 

Otherwise the spa had proved to be a somewhat disconcerting experience. Hux had excused himself from the “relaxing meditation with singing bowls and connecting with the spirit of the Universe” before he started laughing out loud, taken one look at the occupants of the hot tub and turned on his heels for a thorough and very hot shower, and absolutely refused to touch the vile green smoothies proffered at every turn, passing them on to FN-1976 instead. The trooper seemed to enjoy the horrid stuff, but then again, compared to the basic fare aboard a star destroyer most things would probably be considered gourmet. And everywhere he went, he seemed to be stuck behind people walking infuriatingly slowly. He hadn’t known it was actually physically possible for an adult being of any species to move with such a sluggish pace. 

Oh, and then there was the buffet. The _buffet_. He had ventured there on the first day with a sense of trepidation, his only motivation being that the room service was stupidly expensive, and he needed some sustenance. Once again, he had been stuck behind a herd of slow-movers, already feeling a rise in his blood pressure. 

He had shuffled along in the line, idly wondering how much paperwork it would yield to stab the woman in front of him to death with a butter knife. The wretched thing went through the buffet sniffing every dish and touching every single piece of bread all the while complaining loudly about everything her eyes fell upon. Behind him, FN-1976 was looking thoughtful, his gaze flicking back and forth from the spoon he was holding to the offending woman. Hux knew for a fact that the man was perfectly capable of turning anything and everything into a weapon and indulged in letting his imagination run free for a minute.

Just as he was about to shove the knife into her watery eye he saw an old man with a distinctive military bearing pawing at his side where he obviously was used to carrying a blaster, and a young woman twisting her napkin into a garrote. The show of camaraderie in the face of a common enemy struck a nerve and he decided to skip the stabbing and the buffet. Making a mental note to enquire about the young woman with a view to recruiting her if she already wasn’t in the Order’s service Hux exited the horrifying room, FN-1976 following close behind. 

The room service was worth every damn credit. Even when they insisted on bringing him the horrible smoothies with every meal.

The mud bath had admittedly been an enjoyable experience, to an extent, the warmth dragging the tension out of his body. He had even dozed off for a while and felt quite relaxed and almost fine as he slowly dragged himself out of the mud and into a hot shower. The wonderful sluggishness had vanished rapidly after that, as he made his way into the dressing room and found out that his clothes had disappeared.

Barring the possibility that they had walked away by themselves, probably after realizing the futility of this so-called “relaxation”, Hux came to the conclusion that some unfortunate mentally challenged moron had not been able to gather enough intelligence together to realize that the mud bath had been reserved and the suit in the dressing room was not meant for the Lost and Found. With his trousers had gone his comm link. And his room key card. 

Fuck.

Okay. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Focus. This mission had but one objective, namely to make it through the clear and present danger of people in the spa’s lounge, acquire access to his rooms, get dressed and get out. And when back on the bridge of the _Finalizer_ , and with enough firepower at his command to turn entire cities into rubble and glass, give the crew a chance to hone their skills at pinpoint targeting and blast this hellhole out of the face of the planet.

He was a fucking General of the fucking First Order. He would not back down in the face of any adversity. This was _not_ the Academy, where he all too vividly remembered enduring similar sort of humiliation. Although, this was not the _Academy_ , where his retaliation for said humiliation had proved to earn him grudging respect from his peers and tutors. With an attack plan forming in his mind, he opened the door and with only a furtive glance up and down the corridor set about the task at hand. 

And so, a few moments later, the startled guests at the _Waves of Pleasure_ oceanfront spa and luxury resort were regaled with a sight of a tall, redheaded man striding across the lobby clad only in dog tags and standard-issue swimming trunks provided by the First Order, plus soft slippers provided by the spa on his feet. On his face was a snarl of utter fury, and in his eyes danced the flames of righteous vengeance. Those who recognized him had to fight the urge to scramble to attention and salute, those who had been poised to snigger saw the promise of painful death in his gaze and looked away.

He slammed his fists on the counter. “Keys,” he growled, and was quickly presented with not only a key card, but also a fluffy bathrobe from the pale-faced receptionist. He kept the spotty boy frozen in place under his withering glare while he wrapped the robe around him as if it was his beloved greatcoat. Then, after a spectacular about-turn so sharp it could cut durasteel, he marched back across the lounge, down the corridor and into his room, leaving behind a wake of absolute silence. 

Later that night, after he had been reunited with his awol possessions, and a stiff drink had been introduced to his system, Hux was lounging on the balcony of his room nursing the drink number two, letting the sound of the ocean waves calm his frayed nerves. He heard the neighboring room’s door open and close, and a surprisingly mellow voice crooning a soppy love song from a popular musical. Hux summoned the stormtrooper over.

“I see you are a man of many talents, FN-1976.”

The soldier took the compliment stoically. He stood at parade rest, ready to fulfill any orders given to him without question. 

“Tell me, how good are you at hacking into the security surveillance in, say, a hotel like this?”


End file.
